


Lovers' Day

by thejourneymaninn



Series: Lovers' Day [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M, Smut, Tumblr Prompt, Valentine's Day, well Lovers' Day but that's the same thing just without a name I'd have to explain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 02:37:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14369076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejourneymaninn/pseuds/thejourneymaninn
Summary: On Lovers’ Day, Fenris comes home to find Anders has arranged a surprise for him.For a tumblr prompt asking for a fluffy and smutty Fenders Valentine’s Day fic.





	Lovers' Day

**Author's Note:**

> For an anon prompt on tumblr:  
> 'Are you willing to take a fenders prompt? I barely saw any Valentine's Day fics for them. I'd like to request something fluffy but smutty if possible involving Valentine's Day.'
> 
> Sorry this took so long, I had a few really bad weeks and just couldn't bring myself to write.

The scent, an almost overwhelming sweetness, hit him the moment he opened the door, before he even had a chance to take in the sea of colour that spread out in front of him. They were all over the entrance hall, covering almost the entire floor, flanking the stone steps that led upstairs – flowers, vase upon vase of flowers. Between the twin staircases, petals of a deep crimson had been arranged in the shape of a heart. Not the actual shape of the organ Fenris occasionally removed from their enemies’ chests, but the stylized triangle with boobs people kept insisting represented ‘love’. People like _him_. Brash, headstrong, passionate, perfect in all his annoying ways and never one for keeping things simple or quiet.

It was strange to think that quality had once provoked a quite different reaction than the smile that played about Fenris’ lips as he surveyed the room, that ‘mage’ had ever been uttered with anything else than fondness.

He bent to pick one of the petals off the floor and tuck it into his gauntlet, turned and made his way up the stairs. As he reached the landing, the old floorboards creaking beneath his feet, a faint, slightly dissonant melody began to play in the distance. It grew louder the closer he got to his bedroom and when he opened the door, he found Anders sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, lounging on a pile of cushions and blankets and wringing what sounded an awful lot like the wailing of starving cats from a lute (as much as she’d tried, Orana’s lessons clearly hadn’t paid off yet). Copper blonde hair falling onto his shoulders in soft waves – he must have washed it for the occasion – he looked up at him with a smile.

“Happy Lovers’ Day, Fenris.”

There were more flowers behind him, along with at least two dozen candles and a vast assortment of food on the table. The scent was less strong up here, more like a gentle, soothing backdrop.

Fenris tried to hide his nervousness, but he had a feeling his ears were giving him away. The blasted things felt like they were on fire.

“This…seems excessive.”

Anders shrugged. “You know me, I’m a flashy boy.”

He put the lute on the floor, not quite meeting Fenris’ eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with uncertainty. “It’s a bit much, I know, but…it’s out first Lovers’ Day together. I thought that called for a bit more than a bouquet and some chocolates. I wanted it to be special.” He looked up with a crooked smile. “For you.”

“I apologise…” Fenris bit his lip, fumbling for words. “I…was…not aware this day was so…important.”

Anders scrambled to his feet. He was at Fenris’ side in less than five seconds, cupping his face in both hands. Strange how someone who had once taken pride in causing him discomfort could so quickly have become so skilled at not only sensing it but making it better. _Safe_ was where Anders was. One touch, a smile, a gentle reminder – “I am here” – was all it took.

“There’s nothing to apologise for, I didn’t expect anything. How could you have known? It’s not even that big a thing in Tevinter, from what I’ve heard…”

Fenris could neither confirm nor deny that; he had no recollections pertaining to this day. If free men celebrated it, he hadn’t been privy to it, and as Danarius’ bodyguard, he’d been mostly kept apart from other slaves and their customs. Perhaps there were lost memories from a time before the markings, but he doubted it – why would he have celebrated a day dedicated to lovers when he’d surely never had one?

But he did have a lover now, and said lover had gone to great lengths to surprise him, to ensure it truly was a special day. Whereas Fenris was standing there with nothing but a small box of sweets stuffed into his pouch, and even that he only had because Isabela, in one of her moments of unexpected perceptiveness, had pulled him aside earlier to ask if he had thought to buy a gift for Anders. She’d shaken her head at his puzzled expression – “Oh dear, lover boy’s not going to be happy” - and dragged him to the nearest vendor, insisting he at least buy some sweets.

“If you never hear the end of it, _I’ll_ never hear the end of it, and you two fighting is so last year. Terribly boring. Watching you kiss, now that’s much more fun.”

Well, she hadn’t actually said _kiss_.

 

A handful of sweets for the price of a few silvers. It seemed shamefully little compared to all the planning and expenses Anders had to have put into this, and Fenris’ ignorance was just as shameful an excuse.

Yet it was all he had to offer.

“I would not know.”

“Well, here it is…” Anders said, smiling softly. “Or so I’ve been told. It’s not like I ever had the opportunity to actually _do_ something big for it.”

His face took on a faraway expression, one that Fenris had learned to decipher over the past months: revisiting old hurts, haunting memories. Fenris was as familiar with that feeling as with the shape it took on Anders’ face and knowing how much it hurt, he could never resist the urge to distract him, to pull him back into the present, remind him of all those little moments of joy they’d managed to steal for themselves. He had, however, come to understand that he couldn’t just pull him out of the deep end; he had to guide him back into shallow waters first.

“I take it such gestures are forbidden in the Circle?” he asked, reaching for and squeezing Anders’ hand.

“ _Love_ is forbidden in the Circle.” Anders’ voice was dripping with bitterness. “Mages aren’t allowed to be together – can’t have more cursed mage babies now, can we?”

Fenris cocked his head. “I thought everyone was kissing everyone?”

As he’d hoped, that brought the shadow of a smile on Anders’ face.

“Oh yes, we were – _under_ the Templar’s noses, not _in front_ of them. It gave them too much power if they knew you had someone you cared about, something to _lose_. And giving someone a big Lovers’ Day gift…that would have been sure to attract their attention. Not that we could have _gotten_ anything anyway, no chance for a shopping spree in the Circle. Well, unless it’s to buy yet another rune to protect against cold weather. Very useful when you never actually get to be in _any_ weather.” His expression, while still far away, was more melancholic than pained now. “But they couldn’t take away everything. We learned to treat love like a game… but many of us broke the rules. And we used the very thing they claimed made us unlovable: our magic. On Lovers’ Day, the tradition was to give your…special someone a spell.”

“A…spell?” Fenris blinked in surprise. “How do you ‘give’ those?”

“You create a new one, something specifically for them. Well, I guess they’re not technically ‘new’ spells, it’s usually more of a variation of one that already exists. You’d practice in secret and then on Lovers’ Day, you’d show it to them. Something pretty, like a tiny tree growing right out of their bed, or purple snowflakes. If the Templars caught you, you’d just pass it off as practice…well, unless you used it to get _magical_ in the bedroom, or to watch Templars fall on their arses on that grease you learned to conjure—“

“So _this_ is how you came up with that?” Fenris tried very hard not to chuckle – and failed only a little.

“Some secrets are best not revealed,” Anders looked down at him, a smile on his face. “Let’s just say the more practical ones aren’t just shown but taught. That one special spell created for only one person to use. I know it doesn’t sound like much but…it was all we had.”

Anders fell silent, and it took Fenris several moments to pluck up the courage to ask, “Did you…stop doing that?”

Judging by the way Anders’ eyes twinkled in response, he’d caught the intent behind his cautious phrasing.

“Not exactly.” He was smiling, but Fenris thought he detected a touch of wariness beneath his mirth. ”I did create something…for you. I couldn’t _not_ do it, you mean so much to me, I had to honour that. But you don’t have to watch me perform it, knowing it exists is enough for me. I figured this”—he gestured at the room—“would be more to your tastes.”

Fenris tilted his head back, meeting Anders’ gaze head-on. “Show me.”

“Are you sure?” Anders was failing miserably at hiding his excitement.

“I would not have asked otherwise.”

Instead of a reply, Anders grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the room.

“We need high ceilings,” he explained as he led Fenris down the hall and the stairs. “And a stone floor. Ideally, we’d do it on the roof, but we don’t want to lead the Templars straight to our doorstep, now do we?”

“Not if you want their hearts to remain in their chests.”

“Well, now I’m tempted.”

 

They reached the entrance hall. Anders’ brow furrowed as he looked around the room.

“Could you help me move those flowers over there to the other side? I didn’t quite think this through…”

“Of course.”

“Don’t worry, love, you’ll get new ones in a moment.”

Fenris had no idea what Anders was talking about, but he knew that particular grin well enough not to bother asking questions. He’d find out soon enough; patience wasn’t exactly Anders’ strong suit.

Once they were done and one half of the large hall was empty, Anders motioned for Fenris to sit on the stairs. Before he left for the other side of the room, he leaned down to press a brief kiss on his forehead.

“Stay back, it’s not safe.”

And with that, he spread his arms and began to cast, forgoing the use of a staff in favour of shooting flames right out of his fingertips.

But this wasn’t like the giant balls of fire Anders used in battle, no, these were small, delicate flames, hundreds of them, erupting from Anders’ fingers so fast and manifold it looked like they were dancing. He twirled his in an elaborate choreography, and they followed, intersecting, intertwining, exploding into a cascade of sparkles just beneath the ceiling. More and more flames filled the room, deep orange, soft yellow, some with a tinge of blue. Anders weaved them into the air like a blanket of light; they twisted around him like living creatures, deceptively lethal, fleeting and fragile. And at their centre, _Anders_ , a tall, unwavering figure, face alight, tense around the edges, focussed and utterly in control. Yet beneath that veneer of concentration, there was freedom, wild, unabashed joy. Hair gleaming copper, eyes blazing, he was radiance, he was power, and he was more beautiful than anything Fenris had ever seen.

“I call them fire flowers.”

Fenris blinked as Anders’ quiet words pulled him out of his trance. He held out a hand, silently beckoning Anders to join him on the stairs since he couldn’t walk through the fiery spectacle.

The flames died down; the last sparks fizzled out. As Anders approached him, Fenris noticed the beads of sweat on his skin, the traces of soot on his clothes. He tilted his head back, perfectly aware that his face was betraying his awe as he quietly said,

“I want one every year.”

Anders’ face lit up, weariness expelled as he shone brighter than all his fire flowers combined.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Well, good.” He closed the remaining distance between them. “Because I already have several ideas.”

“Do they include… _other_ uses?”

“Oh yes.”

Fenris leaned back against the step above, cocking his head to the side and his eyebrows upwards. “I’m listening…”

“Sorry, love, just one per year, that’s the whole point…” He trailed off. “Fenris, are you _pouting_? Andraste’s racing heart, you are, that’s the most adorable thing I have ever seen.”

“Adorable enough to make you tell me _now_?”

“Oh no, that’s not going to happen, why would I be in any hurry to get that _adorable_ expression _off_ your face?” Anders’ grin was decidedly too smug. “I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with me for another year if you want to find out. Why the impatience,” he added with a frown as Fenris crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared up at him, “were you planning on running for the hills tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow, nor any day that follows. I am yours.”

“See,” Anders nudged his foot against his. “Was that so hard?”

“No. But I am not the only one who pouts prettily.”

He dashed forward, grabbed Anders by the collar and pulled him down for a kiss.

“Thank you. It was perfect. And all I have for you”—he reached into his pouch and pulled out his laughably tiny (it had become even smaller in the last hour; he was certain) box of sweets—“is this…”

“Those are my favourites!” Anders turned the box over in his hands, beaming at him. Either he was genuinely excited, or he was a better liar than Fenris had thought. “Thank you, love.”

“No,” he shook his head,” this is not enough, you—“

“No, really, it's perfect. You had no idea today was important, and you still got me something.” He knelt down on the step below and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “You thought of me. That’s all that matters.”

As Fenris chased after his lips for another kiss, he seriously considered giving in to temptation and letting the matter go. He hadn’t _meant_ to upset Anders, and it didn’t seem like he had; in fact, Anders had said it was perfect…but…

_But._

He pulled back with a sigh.

“It was inconsiderate. You deserve more.” A thought occurred to him, and he struggled to maintain a neutral expression. “Thus, to make it up to you, I will lie back and let you have me in any way you desire. All night. That is my gift to you.”

For a few heartbeats, there was silence.

And then there was the sound of a soft, bubbling chortle.

“Nice try, love. We both know that’s _exactly_ how you like it.”

“It was worth a shot.”

Anders leaned in to kiss the smirk off his lips. “The idea’s actually not that bad, though… Because as I’m sure you’ll recall, that’s exactly how _I_ like it too.” He caught Fenris’ bottom lip between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to be on the pleasant side of painful. “So…if you really want to make it up to me, how about you have your wicked way with _me_?”

“Well…” Fenris took his time dragging out the word. “After all you have done to take care of me tonight I suppose it is only fair if I do all the… _work_ …now.” He fluttered his lashes at Anders’, part mockery, part seduction. “Perhaps we should…go upstairs?”

Anders straightened his back. As he pushed himself back to his full height he took hold of Fenris’ hands, pulling him to his feet. “Yes, I think you’re onto something there.” He performed a half-twirl up the first few steps and gave Fenris an exaggerated wink. “That’s where the food is. And once we’re done eating, you can—“

“I have no need for food,” Fenris cut in, keeping his voice to a low growl he knew Anders just couldn’t resist. “Tonight, _you_ are on the menu.”

He watched with a satisfied grin as Anders stormed ahead, climbing the stairs faster than Fenris had ever seen.

 

When he entered his room less than a minute later, Anders was already sprawled out on the pile of pillows and blankets he’d arranged on the floor. He was down to his tunic, having shed his coat and trousers, and draped on his side in a pose of mock seduction that somehow managed to _actually_ be seductive, strands of gold fanning out behind him on a deep red pillow. A pillow that Fenris belatedly realised he’d never seen before. Now that he was looking at it closely, the whole pile seemed a lot more comfortable and colourful than his own bedding. Not to mention more numerous.

“Is that…your pillow?”

“This particular one belongs to Hawke. There was a closet full of fancy ones in one of your unused rooms, most of them were mauled by moths, but I could salvage a few. Not enough to build us this big, cosy nest, though, I borrowed the rest from Hawke and Isabela. I have a feeling they won’t be wanting them back after we’re done… Well,” he added as an afterthought, “Isabela might. Do you like them? I tried to make it look nice and welcoming.”

“It...looks good with your hair.” Fenris cleared his throat. Anders was exquisite, long, freckled limbs and shimmering hair, wearing nothing but a tunic and a smile – a smile that said he was perfectly aware of the effect he was having on Fenris.

“Well, I’m happy you like it…and I’d be even happier if you joined me. It’s getting cold lying here all alone, you know.”

Fenris made a point of walking slowly, raising his eyebrows as he got closer. “Cold, hm? In front of the fireplace?”

Anders, never one to back down from a (mock) challenge, just grinned. “Fire can’t compete with the heat of your skin, or the raging flames of your loins, my love. Now will you give me what I need or do I have to”—he let his hand run up his thigh, playing with the hem of his tunic and pushing it, ever-so-slowly, up just a fraction—“take care of it myself? I do seem to recall you saying you were hungry…”

“Indeed,” Fenris said with a solemn nod as he walked past Anders, difficult as it was, to his bedside table. “But first”—he grabbed a bottle of scented oil and held it up for Anders to see—“we need to marinate you.”

He crossed the distance between them in a flash, sunk to his knees and slowly crawled up Anders’ body.

“Embrium and Spindleweed?” Anders said, peering past him at the label. “Now that’s just going to make me taste terrible.”

Fenris trailed his hand up Anders’ arm. “It will also get rid of the tension in those lovely shoulders. Give you the rest you sorely need. Now,” he placed a quick kiss on Anders’ nose, “turn around for me.“

He took advantage of Anders’ lifting himself up on his elbows to wrestle the tunic out from underneath his back and push it up to his waist.”

_No smalls..._

“Like what you see?”

If the teasing tone in Anders’ voice was any indication, Fenris’ stare was as lewd as his thoughts.

“You know the answer. Help me get this thing off you.”

Anders’ laughter spilled around them in soft, iridescent pearls of sound as he wriggled and shimmied to get the shabby garment over his head.

“For someone who tried to talk me into just letting him lie back and take it, you’re remarkably eager.”

“Since it falls to me to do the work, I shall ensure it is done right.” Abandoning his solemn timbre for a threatening undertone, he added, “Do not make me say it a third time: turn around.”

He caught a flash of a cheeky grin, but Anders did as he was told, stretching languidly on the pile of cushions, arms at his sides, his head angled slightly to the left and nestled comfortably into the pillows.

“I am all yours, love.”

Fenris ran his hands up Anders’ back, all the way from his hips to his shoulders. He stuck to an unhurried pace, humming to convey his appreciation. Fenris had found Anders liked to be reassured he was appealing – and he’d also found that _he_ liked showing him he was.

“Beautiful.” He wrapped a hand around each of Anders’ shoulders, kneading them a few times as he brushed stray strands of hair out of the way. He leaned in close to his ear, keeping his voice to a low, husky murmur, “And mine.”

“ _Yes._ ”

It came out as a sigh somewhere between arousal and relaxation, Anders’ body already beginning to ease into the massage he thought was coming. Fenris trailed a line of kisses across his shoulder blades as he reached into his gauntlet and moved to straddle his hips.

He made it almost all the way up his spine before Anders finally asked, “What…what’s this?”

Fenris continued up his neck, the tip of the petal just barely brushing against the skin. “The answer will have to wait until you turn around.”

“You do realise _you_ made me lie on my chest in the first place?”

“I have not forgotten.”

He took his time running the delicate piece of flower over Anders’ skin, down his – deliciously ticklish – sides, into the little dimples above his ass, tracing the outline of each cheek before he moved on to his arms, or rather, the one arm Anders couldn’t see from his position. Interspersing the soft, barely-there touch with heated licks and kisses (and in the case of his ass, the occasional bite), he meticulously covered every inch of his torso before he climbed off and said, trying to make it sound more like an order than the begging of the needy, “Turn around.”

Anders’ eyes widened as he caught sight of the petal.

“ _Oh.”_

“It is part of the heart you gave me. I thought I’d put it to good use.”

His gaze lingered on Anders’ face, on the bright smile that bloomed there, the warmth in his eyes as he reached out to brush a finger over both Fenris’ hand and the petal.

“To perfect use. Just like my actual heart.”

Anders pushed himself up on his elbows for a kiss. Fenris met him halfway, smiling against his lips as he pushed him back down and turned his attention back to the feast that was his body.

He let the petal trail along Anders’ clavicles, slowly, as though he wanted to sketch a particularly demanding detail, dragged it around his nipple, down his stomach, flicking his tongue into his navel as he slid it over his cock (which he realised with satisfaction was now at full interest). He circled his balls once, twice, then moved it all the way from his thigh down to his foot, and back up his other leg. Following its path with his lips, he left a trail of bite marks on the inside of Anders’ thigh.

Fenris licked a line from Anders’ stomach up to his chest, dragged his tongue around one nipple and the petal around the other, biting down once before switching sides.

“Patience, Mage,” he murmured against Anders’ writhing body as he kissed his way down the trail of hairs leading to his cock – and swallowed him down without hesitation. Looking up at him from beneath his lashes, he stuck to shallow bobs, letting his tongue lap at the tip on each upstroke, revelling in the shocked little gasps that escaped Anders every time he changed the pace and took him in fast and deep, all the while stroking the petal, and his fingers, over his balls.

He pulled back _just_ as Anders’ hips began to thrust involuntarily, and was met with an incredibly offended (and incredibly arousing) whimper.

“I thought you wanted all my wicked ways.” Fenris bit down on his neck, grinning at him as he tucked the petal into his hair and grabbed the bottle of oil

Spreading a generous amount all over Anders’ skin, he massaged it into his chest, his arms, his thighs, until he glistened in the firelight, letting his hands slide up and down the slippery spectacle of his lover’s body and leaning in for a few more bites. At last, he uncorked the bottle once more and thoroughly coated his fingers.

“Open wide.”

Expression all satisfied smugness, he watched as Anders promptly spread his legs in eager invitation. His body accepted the intrusion effortlessly, still, Fenris took his time fingering it into pliancy, dragging it out on purpose. Only when he had reduced Anders to a babbling, begging mess did he finally lean in to ask, “Do you want your face in those pillows?”, barely waiting for Anders’ breathless “Ye… _yess_ ” before he removed his fingers and flipped him over.

He pulled him to his knees, pushed his face into the cushions, and sunk himself into him, carefully, yet with little preamble, the practiced ease of a familiar dance. He heard himself moan as though from a distance, lost himself in the heat of Anders’ body, the sight of his cock swallowed by that tight hole now stretched so impossibly wide, the ripples in his flesh as his hips snapped forward and Anders rocked back into him with an eagerness that only spurred him on further. Anders’ skin was gleaming with oil and sweat, his hair a tousled mess, his moans muffled by the pillows. Harsh breaths mingling with low groans, he was giving all of himself and only begging for more.

When he tried to sneak a hand underneath his body Fenris let go of his hips, hooking both arms under his elbows and pulling him up flush against his chest without warning. He nudged his hand away with a slap that was part rough, part playful.

“I thought we had agreed _I_ was to do all the work?”

One arm around Anders’ chest keeping him in pace in an iron grip, he wrapped the other around his swollen cock. His rhythm faltered a little as he began to pound and pump at the same time, but judging by Anders’ whimpers, it didn’t matter - he knew Anders’ body, knew each and every moan; this wasn’t going to take long. Needy and breathless, his mage’s whole body was taut like a bowstring about to snap, head falling back against his shoulder, back arching as Fenris’ thrusts only pushed him further into the tight grip of his hand.

“Fen…Fenris…I’m…I’m going…”

“Yes. Let go. Let go for me… _love_.”

He flicked his tongue into his ear, almost losing his grip on him as Anders’ hips bucked uncontrollably; his mouth found his neck and bit down hard.

Anders’ came with a broken, near-soundless scream, his release crashing down on him and rippling through both of them. Fenris held him tight until the trembling subsided, traced his tongue over the imprint of his teeth as he gently pushed his spent body back into the pillows and placed a hand on each side of his glistening ass. He let him rest for a few more seconds before he picked up the pace again, focussed solely on his own pleasure now. Beneath him, Anders was a sated, blissed-out heap, urging him on with soft groans and breathless praise, his voice somewhere between renewed sparks of arousal and boneless exhaustion.

“Yes…yes, love, that’s it…have me, have your way with me. Feels so good, so full, so good…”

Fenris let go of his hips to stroke a hand along his back, tracing his spine and finally twisting in his hair, a sharp pull anchoring him to his lover as he closed his eyes and fully gave himself over to the mindless rutting of his hips. He pounded into him at a harsh pace for what felt like an eternity - and yet never enough, over in a flash, every part of him curled, snapped in a rush of bliss that sent him collapsing on top of Anders, a pile of wobbly limbs and ragged breath. Although there was a distant worry of squashing him somewhere at the back of his cotton-filled mind, he just couldn’t bring himself to care just yet.

“I love you” came as a mere murmur, muffled by skin on one end and by pillows on the other, but the message was clear, safe and warm and _home_.

He couldn’t have said how long it had taken him to gather enough of his wits and muscle control to roll off Anders and pull him into his arms, yet eventually, he managed.

They lay nuzzled against each other until a different kind of hunger announced its presence in Anders’ stomach (and rather loudly at that). At first, his mage stubbornly ignored it, but eventually, he got up with a sigh and grabbed one of the ruined blankets – “Hawke’s, I hope” — to wipe away the worst of the mess, a tired but utterly satisfied grin on his face. Wrapping himself in one of the slightly-less-ruined blankets, he pressed a kiss on Fenris’ forehead.

“Thank you for an amazing Lovers’ Day. Stay where you are, I’ll get us some food.”

  

* * *

 

 “We’re a bit early for Wicked Grace, aren’t we?” Anders nodded at the orange-pink glow of the sky with a frown.

“Does it make a difference? Varric gambles and drinks all day. I doubt he will notice.”

“Well, you’ve got a point there.”

Judging by Anders’ grin, Fenris’ casual shrug had been as convincing as he’d hoped and Anders had no inkling that Varric would not be there.

Well, knowing him, at least he wouldn’t be _visible_.

 

Exactly one month had passed since Lovers’ Day. Impatient though he was, Fenris had decided to wait until sufficient time had gone by so that Anders would no longer expect him to arrange a surprise in return – and thus actually be _surprised._

So far, his plan had worked perfectly.

 

Intertwining their fingers, he pulled Anders into the tavern, past a grinning Isabela, who lifted her tankard at them but thankfully, remained silent and up the stairs to Varric’s suite.

“We must be _really_ early, no one’s here, not even Varric. I didn’t see him downstairs either. Should we go join Isabela until he comes back?”

Obviously presuming agreement, Anders was already half-turned around, heading for the door. Fenris gave his hand a firm but gentle tug.

“One moment.”

“Hm?”

“There is something I want to show you first.”

Anders’ eyes narrowed, yet he followed meekly as Fenris led him past Varric’s giant table to the little nook at the other end of the wall. There, he let go of Anders’ hand, turning around to face him with his mouth quirked up in challenge.

“Remember this place?”

“Our first kiss…” Anders’ tone was wistful…and a touch wary.

Fenris nodded, leaning up on the tips of his toes to brush his lips against Anders’ in a ghosting, fluttery touch, right here where, almost a year ago, he’d been bored and more than a little tipsy…and made the best mistake of his life. “But not the last.”

Anders’ fingers were in his hair, holding him in place as he captured his mouth and deepened the kiss.

“Yes…we’ve come a long way since then…wait”—his faraway expression made way for a frown as he peered past Fenris’ shoulder at the wall behind them—“what’s this? This wasn’t there before.”

_Well, took him long enough._

Fenris cleared his throat; this felt more awkward than he had anticipated.

“You…gave me something from your past. Something with meaning. I have nothing of equal value to give. Whatever traditions my homeland might have, they are not my own. But…I remembered… it is common among slaves to leave symbols in concealed places. As a warning of a cruel master to those that follow, or as a…mark. Something that will remain long after they have been sold or…” He trailed off. They both knew how that sentence ended; there was no point in tainting the moment. “Orana told me…it is also a common thing to do for lovers. A quiet, hidden gift. Like your spells. A reminder of what cannot be taken away.” He took a deep breath. “There will be a new one each year, until the whole city is covered in them. We won our freedom. We will leave our mark.”

Anders placed his hand on the symbol. The gesture was as reverent as his whispered, “A heart encircling a feather… This means love?”

“It does now.”

If there was a universal symbol, Orana didn’t know about it – and with no, or barely any, means of communication outside one’s household, it didn’t seem likely that there wouldn’t at least be regional differences. Either way, it didn’t matter. He had no need for Tevinter symbols. This one was theirs. Their own, like the freedom they had fought for, chosen, like they chose each other.

“Yes. Yes, it does.” His hand still tracing the feather, Anders was staring at the wall as though Fenris wasn’t there.

He laid his hand over Anders’ and gave a gentle squeeze.

“Happy Lovers’ Day. Next year, I shall be on time.” He found himself hesitating. “Do you…like it?”

“I _love_ it.” Anders leaned down, buried his nose in his hair and brushed it against his scalp. “No one has ever given me anything like this, not even close. Thank you.” The words came out muffled and when he lifted his head, there was a suspicious shimmer in his eyes that didn’t quite match his cheeky grin. “I suppose there’s no point in asking where the next one’s going to be?”

“None whatsoever.”

Anders heaved a dramatic sigh. “Brought this on myself, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

Anders took one last lingering look at the wall, mouth curling into a smile, spun around with surprising agility and swept Fenris into his arms for a not-at-all brief kiss.

“The best Lovers’ Day gift anyone could ask for – a declaration of love _and_ an act of minor vandalism. What more does a man need?”

“Regardless of whether you need it – there is more.” His voice betraying his grin, Fenris grabbed Anders by the hand and pulled him along, out of Varric’s suite and down the hallway.

“More?”

“More.” Trying not to laugh at just how much Anders’ expression resembled that of an eager puppy, Fenris opened a door at the far end of the hall. “I got us a room.”

He waited for Anders to take in the flowers, the feathers and candles, the nest of blankets and pillows, almost an exact replica of the one Anders’ had built for him on Lovers’ Day proper, in the middle of the room and the lavish picnic that had been set up just within reach of it on the floor.

“You do realise Isabela and Varric are going to listen in, I hope?” Anders turned to him with a stern frown on his face, but beneath his raised eyebrows, the corners of his mouth were twitching.

“I assume they will have invited the others too. But if memory serves, that does not stop you. Quite the opposite. And speaking of…” Fenris let himself flop down onto the pillows, stretching his legs, arms folded behind his head. “I believe you know how I like it?”


End file.
